London Sirens
by Feagalad
Summary: "...we were unstoppable, young, daring, and beautiful. We were the London Sirens." A look into the mind and life of Janine Brook as she contemplates her job, her past, and her friends...all to the tune of Batman analogies. Set pre-Empty Hearse, but utilising information learned and guessed from through His Last Vow.


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**Disclaimer: **_Yeah. I totally own Sherlock Holmes and everything associated with that character. Right. Suuuure. That's why I'm posting on a fanfiction site and writing this disclaimer, I suppose..._

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Behind every great man there is a great woman...no ifs, ands, buts, or exceptions. It's like a law of nature. Like gravity pulls down or fire burns or the importance of a good night's rest for continued health and sanity...but you didn't come here to listen to me ramble on about ethics and statistics and all that, neither do I want to spend my time talking about such things. So I shan't.

As we speak I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for my boss to get done with a panel so he can come back and flick my eyeball some more. What...does he think I'm a masochist like my brother was? Good God!

It's not like I can stop him. He knows WAY too much about my family and about my real name, after all. What? You don't believe my name is really Janine Brook? Well the 'Janine' is certainly correct. The 'Brook', though? Ah. That's a bit more complicated. And classified. _Highly _classified. So don't even ask. My lips are ssseeealed! (Dammit! It always sounded more menacing when Jimmy said it...)

Anyway. I'm bored. And short of hacking into files and earning myself another session of eyeball-flicking or going out and blowing something up, I've got nothing to do. So I'm going to write and vent my feelings in a 'constructive' manner.

My name is Janine Brook and I am the personal assistant and secretary to a madman. Why I ever took this job, I don't know, but it had something to do with my brother needing a mole in Magnussen's staff. And like an idiot I volunteered. Hey...it was better than being shipped off to Serbia! And at least this job paid...

It gets lonely sometimes, not to mention annoying. Magnussen is an uncultured pig. He pisses in the flower pots, he leaves takeout containers everywhere, he leaves a trail of filth behind him that belies his cool, suited exterior. Trust me. That man is awful.

I suppose you're probably wondering why I don't just leave this job that I'm rambling on about how dreadful the employer is. It's not like I need the money. Jimmy-boy left it all to me whenever he died and, while his overseas assets were all but destroyed last year as his web crumbles, it's not like I am left destitute. But therein lays the problem. That bastard, Magnussen, knows FAR too much about me. Or, rather, knows too much about my family. I curse the day my brother ever started dealing with him. He already had one master blackmailer on his payroll (even though she would have my guts for garters for saying that), but Jim was never known for his restraint.

Oh that other blackmailer...

I guess I should probably talk a little bit about Irene, but in order to do so, you'll have to let me indulge in one of my vices. Hey...Jim had _Glee, _I have _Batman_. We all have some weakness. I bring this up because the only way to really talk about Irene and about we women of the Moriarty Web, you have to think about Gotham and its femme fatales.

First you have our Poison Ivy. That would be Irene Delilah Adler, the deadly seductress with poison on her lips. And no, I never kissed her. I don't swing that way...and it was Kate's gig anyway. But that's just Irene...flirting with danger and with everyone she meets. She was brilliant, really she was, and we had such wonderful times together in-between nefarious deeds. Ladies have to stick together, united against those immature, silly blokes, after all. Not that all men are like that...but Seb and Jim certainly were. She had a real wicked sense of humour and was totally infatuated with that detective who committed suicide about a year or so ago, even though I'm sure she denied it to her dying day.

Then came our Catwoman, Abigail Grace Roxanne Adair. A big, odd name for such a small woman. But while she may have been small and lithe, she packed a punch, let me tell you! I think even Sebastian was a little bit wary of her. We all were, though she could be right sweet and friendly whenever she wasn't on duty. She had been a freelance assassin that Jimmy hired to be the eyes on Sebastian. (Even though they were shagging like rabbits he still didn't trust that man.) But I think she also did a bit of recreational burglary too, hence the Catwoman comparison. Good old Abbey. I think she's the only one out of all of us who escaped from Jim's ring unscathed. To my private knowledge she has taken a new name for herself and left the assassin gig far behind...she even fits the role of Catwoman, given that she is consorting with the enemy. Honestly. Ever since she laid eyes on that Doctor Watson over her sniper's rifle she's been as lovestruck as Irene. Insane the two of them!

I guess that just leaves me, Janine Isabelle Moriarty (Brook, legally, now), the Harley Quinn of our group. I'll admit that the metaphor isn't perfect (Jim was my _brother_, not my lover, for God's sake!), but given that I'm the one with the actual relationship to him, that's who I compare myself with. He was a brute and a psychopath and a bully...but he was my brother. And I think, in his own twisted way, that he loved me. Maybe. Possibly the closest thing to love he was capable of. I don't know. He got me this job, didn't he? And though it's a drag and I'm caught and I can't get away, the position itself is rather plummy. I could have done a lot worse. I could be like poor Abbey (no I'm not going to tell you her new name because then I'd have to kill you...come to think of it I probably should if you're reading this in the first place) and have to change my entire identity and persona to survive.

All of our lives were ruined whenever Jim fell. I lost my brother, my friends, and what was left of my freedom. Irene lost her life...after her defeat by the Holmes Brothers Jim gave the tip-off to a terrorist group in Karachi and arranged to have her executed. Tying up loose ends, he called it. And Abbey? Well, Abbey no longer exists. She's created a new life for herself and has no intention of ever going back to who she was before. I think nothing could convince her to go back. She's just not the sort of person to ever glance over her shoulder in reminiscence. In suspicion and caution, yes, but not in memory. I'm just very lucky that she even renewed our friendship after she turned over a new leaf and I will protect her new secret with my life. I may be a bit messed up and the sister to a criminal mastermind, but I am loyal to those who have earned it.

We used to be a deadly trio - three allies united against the crazy men in our lives. We used to be happy (or, well, as happy as you can be with a psychopathic loon for a brother/boss/consultant). We were unstoppable, young, daring, and beautiful. We were the London Sirens.


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